FINN SCHOLES
HIT It’s 2am. I’ve just played a banging gig at Leigh Sawmill with the band Hopetoun Brown. Now — loaded up with two trumpets, a bass clarinet, trombone and tuba — the band is rowing out to a ketch in the harbour. We are on the Round the Horn tour of Hauraki Gulf islands. Tonight, thanks to a difficult weather situation, we have to sail through the darkness from Leigh to Great Barrier Island. I have heard about “night sailing” before and the idea both scares and excites me. Before I know it, we are off and I’ve been given the first watch. I can’t believe it. I’m the only person sailing this boat — basically into pitch blackness. As I struggle to keep the tiller straight and the compass on course, a wave hits the deck and splashes into my face. It’s like a scene from the movie Master and Commander with a skinny trumpet player playing the part of Russell Crowe. My watch runs smoothly and then I manage to
get a few hours sleep, waking as the boat cruises into its destination. We’re on time for the gig — getting there in the most unique and exciting way possible.
MISS It’s 5am and I’m about to catch a ferry from the south of Italy to Tunisia. The journey is going to be long but my brother, my cousin and I have a bottle of wine and a deck of cards. Everything seems to run smoothly. But then the sea roughens and the boat starts to sway. At first it feels quite nice. It’s like the drop on a roller coaster, only it occurs much more often. I notice some passengers are getting sick. Luckily I don’t get seasick, I think to myself. Then as the day goes by, the constant tummy drops get to everyone. Literally everyone. The boat becomes a vomit party where the queues to the toilet don’t move fast enough. There is spew everywhere and the constant rocking never stops. I’ve never been more unwell or felt so disgusted.